The Dobson Family. 597 



the glad waters of the dark blue sea," and was, or appeared to be, 

 quite wrapped up in a Byron she held in her hand : at last turning 

 to the helmsman, she asked him, pointing to a gull, if that was a 

 wild sea mew. " Lord ! no, Miss," said the seaman, " that is a 

 chicken." " A. chicken!" said Julianna. "Yes," Miss, "one of 

 Mother Gary's chickens." 



Julianna kept a journal, and duly recorded the fact of having 

 seen several curious chickens belonging to a Mrs. Gary, far out at 

 sea and apparently quite wild. But even Byron was at last obliged 

 to seek her berth. After a rough passage the packet arrived safely 

 at Calais, where they were assailed by a troop of porters, each in- 

 sisting on taking the Dobsons and their luggage to his own particular 



Jeremiah Dobson, Esq., seemed totally at his wit's end. He did 

 not know a single word of French, and had never until now dreamt 

 that he should find any difficulty in getting on, as he expressed it. 

 But now the truth, the awful truth, flashed upon him. They did 

 not speak English in France ; what was to be done ? He was 

 nearly distracted, and upon the point of going back to the boat, to 

 wait till it returned, and then return with it, when the English 

 waiter at Desseins came up to him, and Mr. Dobson placed himself 

 entirely at the tender mercy of his countryman, who took him and 

 his couple of dozen boxes and bandboxes, to that horrible of all horrible 

 places, the Custom House ; where the white satin dresses, and the 

 raspberry-jam, and the pink satin slips, and the walnut ketchup, and 

 the gauze sleeves, and the mixed pickles, were first tumbled out, and 

 then in, without the least regard to the feelings of their distracted 

 owners, who stood by, the very images of despair, with sea sickness 

 written on each woe-begone feature. 



At last they got to Dessein's, where the first thing to do was to 

 order dinner, having resolved that a beaf steak would be the best 

 thing and the soonest got. Emily went to look in the dictionary, 

 where she found "stake translated pien.'' She accordingly addressed 

 the waiter on his entrance, with " Pouvez vous nous donner un pieu 

 de beuf pour diner?" " Comment, Mademoiselle," said the fellow with 

 a slight grin. Emily repeated her question. " Excusez moi, Ma- 

 demoiselle^ mats vraiment je ne comprends pas." " You don't under- 

 stand/' said Emily in English, very angry, then turning to her ad- 

 miring mother, " The fellow really does not understand his own 

 language,'' with an air of ineffable disdain. " I think I could make 

 him understand what a cutlet is," said she ; " shall I order one ?" 



"T'will do just as well," answered the bonpere, " only let it be of 

 veal." Emily asked the waiter if he had des culottes de veau. The 

 fellow laughed out-right, and, saying he should send the English 

 waiter, left the room. The Englishman apologized for the stupidity 

 of the Frenchman ; and they at last got a most excellent dinner 

 which they discussed with most excellent appetite. Every thing 

 went on swimmingly until bed-time, when they were shown up to 

 one of the very cleanest and best bedrooms in all France, in which 

 were two French beds placed at opposite corners. " Nice clean 

 room this," said Mr. Dobson; " Very, but, v continued Mrs. D., stop. 



